The Window Washer
by VictorianSuperman
Summary: There are those who blend so well into the backdrop of everyday life that they seem invisible. As Supes learns the hard way, they really shouldn't be taken for granted.
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer:

I do not own Superman.

A/N- I want to give a shout out to my wonderful friend and beta, Wahoogal, for taking time out of her busy, busy schedule to proof this story and make it all snazzy. Thank you, WG, for all that you do- for me and for our fans.

**The Window Washer**

From his perch hundreds of feet above the Metropolis pavement, Julian McDowell wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to fly under his own power—to be free from the confines of gravity and humanity. Maybe the feel of sunshine on his back and the clouds in his face would help him cope—cope with his pain and loss.

It was two weeks ago that Julian had received more devastating news on the heels of his brother's death. Lily, his beautiful 4 year old daughter with brown pigtails and an impish grin so like her mother's, had cancer. Leukemia, the doctor called it, a type of blood cancer. Since it had been caught early, the doctor felt she had a good chance of beating it if they started her on an aggressive chemotherapy treatment immediately. He didn't have to think twice—it didn't matter that he couldn't afford it on his small salary, he'd eat his shirt if that's what it took. While the thought of begging for money turned his stomach sour, there were government programs that would help. So he swallowed his pride and filled out the forms and called the 800 numbers from the pamphlets the doctors gave him.

Meanwhile, Julian worked any odd job he could to help pay for his daughter's treatments; only once did he think of stealing to help his little girl but he dismissed that idea just as quickly, wary of that which had caused him so much pain already. Standing on a 3' by 15' long platform suspended from the roof of the Kaname building—a modern steel and glass structure that dwarfed its surroundings—he methodically wiped windows clean with his partner, Steve.

Feeling helpless in the face of this seemingly insurmountable disease that was eating Lily from the inside, Julian felt like screaming in anguish. Instead, he funneled his despair and anger into his work, reminding himself that he was doing everything for her. A sharp rebuke from Steve jolted him from his thoughts and he forced himself to focus on the job at hand lest he fall and hurt himself.

From his vantage point at the southeast corner of the building, he felt as though the entire city were laid below him like a toy miniature. A flash from the corner of his eye drew his attention and he brought an arm up to shield his eyes. Ten floors below, the Daily Planet globe rotated on its axis and Julian watched the hypnotic motion for a moment until another, different flash caught his attention.

Superman came in for a landing on the Planet's rooftop and disappeared behind an outcropping housing some of the building's elevator mechanics. While he still harbored a grudge against the Man of Steel, he couldn't deny that he felt a sense of awe seeing him in action—newspapers, photos and the evening news were as close as he got.

At another nudge from his partner, Julian picked up his 2 foot wide squeegee and got back to work. Working quickly, he completed his section and his partner lowered the platform to the next set of windows by pressing the panel that controlled the winch on the roof. He was still fairly new at the job, having been hired by an independent contractor six months ago following a 2 year stint in the Metropolis Correctional Facility.

His right shoulder started aching so he deftly switched the squeegee to his left hand as his mind wandered off again. Four years ago he was just 20 years old, immature, impressionable, desperate and unable to hold a steady job due to his heavy drug use; he'd panicked when his girlfriend, Tanya, told him that she was pregnant with his second child and so he turned to his brother, Eli, and cousin, Georgie, for help.

They had been members of one of Metropolis' most notorious street gangs for years and promised him easy money if he joined, which was how he and another, younger man found themselves holding up four convenience stores in one night. Their luck held most of the night and they had managed to rack up a couple thousand dollars by the time they walked into their fourth store, ski masks pulled over their faces, and found several off-duty plainclothes detectives from the Metro PD inside. Too late, the boys realized their mistake as the older, more experienced men overpowered them and wrestled away the one .22 caliber handgun his brother had given them.

Sentenced to 4 years (one for each of the gang-affiliated robberies), Julian had been released in 2, due in part to good behavior but mostly due to prison overcrowding. Since the Man of Steel's reappearance several months earlier, the prison was slowly filling to capacity; while awaiting his parole, he found out that several of the older gang members (including Georgie) had been arrested and sent upstate to a maximum security prison. His brother had escaped being picked up that time, only to commit suicide shortly before Julian was released. He later learned that Eli had taken his life after another gang raid by the Metro PD. Superman had been there and seemingly didn't do anything to prevent his brother's death. At least, that's how he felt; he didn't know if his brother had been in the right or the wrong, and he didn't care, all he knew was that he was dead. Feeling lost and helpless without the guiding hand of his older brother, Julian's anger and resentment towards the superhero grew.

Upon his release he went straight, and he reconnected with his girlfriend, Tanya, and two daughters, aged 4 and 1. Having had time to grow up, get clean and reflect on his life, Julian decided that he was going to do everything in his power to keep Lily and Nicole from having the same life he and Eli did, growing up poor in the Slums. He contacted his godfather and, after convincing him that he was clean for good, landed the job as a unionized window washer. The pay was excellent for a parolee and Julian soon found that he had the aptitude for it.

He was startled from his thoughts when he felt the platform lower and realized that he'd cleaned an entire spate of windows on autopilot once again. He glanced up to check his work and sighed in relief when there were no undue streaks or water spots. Julian shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand; he had to be 100 percent alert and sure-footed on the slick surface of the platform, especially since it was a long way down to the sidewalk.

An hour had passed and they were just about two floors up from the Daily Planet rooftop when he noticed movement once more. Glancing over, he saw Superman take to the skies again; without breaking his stride, Julian found his mind wandering to the habits of the superhero. He wondered briefly what Superman could possibly be doing at the Daily Planet at 11am on a Thursday, but answered his own question when he belatedly remembered that Lois Lane interviewed the Man of Steel on a regular basis and that she worked at the Planet.

Thirty minutes later, the superhero lit upon the neighboring building for the second time and disappeared behind the same outcropping. His curiosity was now well and truly piqued, and Julian found himself eating his lunch and keeping an eye on the Planet as he and Steve hung in mid-air. His partner was deep in conversation with his wife on his cell phone, so he could stare without fear of drawing any undue attention. He was munching thoughtfully on a ham and cheese sandwich when the Man of Steel made another hasty exit. This time, Julian could see that he had reappeared from that same outcropping which led him to believe that there was a door into the building somewhere on the other side.

The sight of the hero returning to the Planet once again made the wheels in his mind really turn. This was an awfully long interview even if it kept getting interrupted by crises every 30 minutes. Being a shrewd man and not wanting to jump to any hasty conclusions, he decided to count Superman's departures from the rooftop for the rest of the afternoon.

By quitting time that day Julian was not disappointed; Superman had made no less than six trips to and from the Daily Planet, and that was only since lunch. Curious, he strained to see if there was a door where he suspected there was, but dusk had fallen too quickly by the time they'd gotten the platform to the roof and stowed away all their supplies, so he made a mental note to check in the morning.

* * *

It frustrated him to learn upon returning to work the next morning that his partner had switched sides of the building with the other team; it meant that he would not be able to keep an eye on the superhero's comings and goings from the Daily Planet rooftop. While he knew it was common that the teams switch the sun side of the building, he still wished Steve had consulted him first. Julian's hopes of Superman-watching were dashed.

Before climbing onto his platform he detoured over to where he could clearly see the roof of the newspaper building beside them. Julian searched for the door he subconsciously knew to be there and, after several seconds, he located it from his new perch and smiled; there was always tomorrow—this building would take at least another week for the two teams to finish. He whistled a silly tune he'd heard Lily sing as Steve lowered them over the side of the building.

That day turned out to be more productive than the one before, due primarily to Julian's ability to focus on the job at hand since he was out of sight of the superhero. While he didn't quite grasp the importance of what he had stumbled upon, he knew without a doubt that it was something big. Feeling a bit like his daughters at Christmas, the following morning couldn't come fast enough as far as he was concerned.

* * *

As he lay awake that night, exhausted yet unable to sleep, Julian watched the ceiling fan make its lazy revolutions and mulled over his discovery. If his hunch were true, then Superman had business at the Planet other than interviewing with Lois Lane. He thought of his girls asleep in their beds, his job and his fiancée tossing and turning beside him while he drowsed in and out of sleep, thinking that there was something about the whole situation that he should understand but couldn't. Frustrated, he rolled over and just as he was about to drift off into a deep sleep, his subconscious wondered tiredly if Superman even knew what a normal life was like.

Like a bucket of cold water, that thought served to wake him up and Julian sat bolt upright in bed. "That's it!"

He looked beside him; Tanya groaned at the disruption, shushing him before falling swiftly back to sleep. Wide awake now, he padded down the hallway in his bare feet—shrugging a thick black robe over his broad shoulders as he went—and made a beeline for the stack of newspapers in the corner of the kitchen. Fishing through the paper, he separated out the headlines for the last week from among the rest of the pages; growing more excited by the minute, he read article after article, confirming Superman's whereabouts throughout the week and cementing his assumption in his mind.

It was a bit of a leap, given his meager evidence, but Julian _knew_ he was right. He sat at the kitchen table, mulling over what to do with this new information while scraping a bit of stuck on food with his fingernail. He thought of Lily and the clumps of hair they'd found on her pillow that morning, the brave face she put on for her mom and dad day after day, and the surgical mask she had to wear to protect her weakened immune system from a bombardment of germs. _What would happen to Superman if this news got out?_ Julian shook his head and thought of his dead brother and his sick little girl and found the courage to make the phone call he'd been dreading.

He dialed a number from memory and prayed it hadn't changed. The ringing of the handset in his ear seemed deafening in the silence of his two bedroom apartment.

"This had better be good." The gruff voice belied its owner's fatigue.

"Bobby, it's Jules." He whispered, trying not to wake his family. Silence on the line met his quiet declaration. "Bobby? You there?"

"Yeah, sorry. How ya been buddy? Haven't seen ya in two years." His observation was punctuated by a jaw cracking yawn and Julian was hard pressed not to follow suit.

"I got a job, Bobby. An honest-to-God, paying job with the Union washing windows; I've been clean for two years and I plan on staying that way. I gotta set a good example for my girls."

The rough sounding guy on the line hummed non-commitally before replying, "Listen, Jules, was there a reason you called? If you don't need to meet me, I'm going back to bed."

"Actually, yeah there was a reason," Julian sucked in a deep breath. "I need to know who will pay top dollar for information about Superman."

"Big Blue, huh? Hmmm...yeah I'll getcha a number if only to keep him away from my route. Can't sell nothin' with him breathin' down my neck. Listen Jules, I like ya and all, but this'll cost ya."

"I'll give you 5 percent." Julian did the quick math in his head and decided that, if the reward were substantial, he could part with that much and still have plenty left.

"15. I got a business to run." The older man fairly growled.

"10 percent."

Silence met his last offer and he could hear the faint crinkle of a wrapper over the phone. "Fine. I'll call you in a few days."

"Okay, here's my…" Julian quickly found himself listening to a dial tone. "Phone number. How's he gonna call me back if he doesn't have my number?" Shaking his head at his crazy acquaintance, he trudged back to the bedroom for some much needed rest. For being a small-time dealer, Bobby had eyes and ears everywhere and Julian knew the man was his best bet for his daughter's sake.

* * *

It was an agonizingly slow two days for Julian. Armed with his new knowledge, he continued to surreptitiously observe the superhero. With each take-off and landing on the Daily Planet's roof, his theory became more firmly cemented in his mind and he couldn't fathom out why no one else had noticed it before.

In the middle of dinner that night, the phone rang off the hook and Julian broke his own rule of not answering the telephone during mealtimes. He cupped a broad hand around the mouthpiece and said, "Hello?"

"Hey Jules—I got that number you wanted."

"Great! Who's is it?"

"The hell if I know. Listen, you wanted to know who would pay top dollar—this is the guy. If you don't like it, then it'll cost you another 5 percent."

"N-no! This is fine."

The gruff man rattled off an 800 number before hissing "Don't forget—10 percent." into the phone.

Julian stared at the number he'd scrawled on the back of a medical bill for a moment before folding the paper neatly into his breast pocket and returning to the table, deflecting questions from his family all the while.

* * *

_What's taking them so long?_ He could hear muffled voices coming from the girls' room as their mom read them a story before bed. Julian knew that once the kids were asleep, his fiancée was not far behind. His leg threatened to bounce right through the floor, he was so nervous. Finally the door to the master bedroom clicked shut and the light under the door turned off; he was on his feet in a heartbeat, heading for the front door with his shoes in one hand and jacket in the other. Once outside, Julian wound his way to the lone pay phone at a service station two streets over, touching his breast pocket all the while as if to make sure the number didn't disappear. He waited nervously for the guy ahead of him to finish his conversation, glancing left then right, and gazing up into the sky as if Superman could somehow read his mind and swoop in to stop him.

With shaking fingers, Julian keyed in the wrong number twice before he heard the click of the line being transferred. He was starting to get cold feet when a guy with a voice like rough gravel answered the phone, "Talk."

Julian prided himself on the fact that his voice only shook slightly as he replied, "I have information about Superman." The guy grunted once and Julian could hear the phone getting set down—straining his hearing, he could pick up soft voices and a strange clinking sound.

Another voice came on the line then, cultured and smooth like silk but with a hint of venom. "What can you tell me about Superman?"

"I-I can tell you w-where he works." He gulped, praying the man believed him.

"We already know where he works." The honeyed voice sounded bored as if he'd heard this a thousand times before.

"Y-you do?" Julian could feel the bitter disappointment rising in his chest.

"Yes—it's all over the news all day, every day, it's pinning him down in one locale on one continent that's the difficult part. Unless you have something new…"

"I do! Have something new, I mean." Bolstered by the man's admission that they were only aware of his heroic activities, a hint of hope crept into Julian's voice.

"Continue."

"I know where he works…"

"You've already said that—stop wasting my time."

"… when he's not being Superman."

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A/N- You are coming back for more, right? 'Cause I'm not done yet…hehe. Reviews are always welcome: love it, hate it, etc.?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Superman.

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Previously on **The Window Washer**: _Another voice came on the line then, cultured and smooth like silk but with a hint of venom. "What can you tell me about Superman?" _

"_I-I can tell you w-where he works." He gulped, praying the man believed him._

"_We already know where he works." The honeyed voice sounded bored as if he'd heard this a thousand times before._

"_Y-you do?" Julian could feel the bitter disappointment rising in his chest._

"_Yes—it's all over the news all day, every day, it's pinning him down in one locale on one continent that's the difficult part. Unless you have something new…" _

_"I do! Have something new, I mean." Bolstered by the man's admission that they were only aware of his heroic activities, a hint of hope crept into Julian's voice._

"_Continue."_

"_I know where he works…"_

"_You've already said that."_

"… _when he's not being Superman."_

* * *

"WHAT?!" The smooth voice rang out through the earpiece and Julian found himself holding the phone away from his ear. Cautiously, as though it might bite him, he cradled the receiver between his head and his shoulder once again, freeing up his hands to continue wringing the metal cord of the payphone in his hands.

"I know where he…"

"Yes, yes. You've said that already. Tell me _everything_." The menacing anticipation in the man's voice sent a chill up Julian's spine. He thought of his daughter and that gave him the courage to continue. He infused as much indifference as possible into his voice while lowering it to ensure no one accidentally overheard him.

"I'll tell you what you want to know when I get the money—you won't get a lick of information from me otherwise. I'm sure the Metropolis Star would pay handsomely for the information." _Especially since he works for their rival paper._

"Yes of course, the money." The phone was put down. Not a second later it was picked up by the first respondent.

"You gotta come down to this address tonight…" The gravelly voice grated against his nerves, but Julian obediently scribbled down an address onto the back of his envelope before hanging up mutely. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was still early. _Now is as good a time as any._ He recognized the address as being near the docks and pulled his coat tighter around himself before hailing a taxi.

Twenty minutes later, Julian was standing outside a non-descript, gunmetal grey warehouse. He didn't see an entrance in the front so he screwed up his courage and continued around to the side of the building where a lone, bare bulb illuminated a thick, steel door. Hesitantly, he rapped on the door a few times, listening to the echo inside crescendo then fade before he stepped back out into the circle of light.

"Who's there?" The man answering the door was the same from the phone earlier so Julian knew he was in the right place. All that could be seen were an icy set of blue eyes through the slit in the door.

"I have information…" was as far as Julian was able to get before he was interrupted.

"You the guy that called?"

"Yeah."

"Keep your hands where I can see 'em."

Julian stopped short of raising his arms up, but kept his hands in front of him careful not to make any sudden movements. Dying tonight would not help his little girl.

Once inside, several burly looking men patted him down and searched through the contents of his pockets. One particularly mean-spirited man smirked at the envelope Julian had kept in his pocket, pulling it apart and reading it without any regard for his privacy. The bill was waved like a flag and the man's companion huddled up beside him, listening to his hushed instructions. The younger man stopped short of saluting, but took the envelope and quickly trotted from the room.

"Hey! Where're you going with that?!" Julian's voice seemed to echo in the dark above them signaling a rather tall ceiling.

"You'll get it back before you leave. Follow me."

Julian followed the broad-backed man through a seemingly unending maze of hallways as they progressed further into the dark warehouse. At first he tried counting turns, but after a few minutes, he found himself hopelessly lost. He prayed that everything would go according to plan and that he wouldn't find himself in a situation where he'd have to leave in a hurry.

His guide stopped rather abruptly and tapped a quick staccato against an expansive oak door. Muffled voices became clear as the door swung open to admit them into an opulent office; the space was decorated in textures and muted earth-tones and created a calming effect. _No doubt to lull someone into a false sense of security_, he thought to himself as the alarm bells went off in his head_._ For being a high school dropout Julian was very bright, almost insightful, at times; he knew he had to keep his wits about him at all times, especially in situations like this.

A high-backed, burgundy leather chair swiveled to meet the newcomers and Julian suppressed a gasp. An impeccably dressed, bald man lounged, for lack of a better word, behind the desk. Appearances can be deceiving, as Julian well knew, and he noticed that, while the man's facial features looked relaxed and almost flippant, his body was actually tensed tighter than a spring in his seat. He knew without a doubt that Lex Luthor concealed a handgun beneath the shiny desk.

"M-Mr. L-Luthor, sir!" Julian dipped his head in respect to the criminal mastermind. While they had never been incarcerated together, Luthor's reputation preceded him and Julian had learned all about the man's colorful history with Superman from his loose-tongued cell mate in prison. It didn't surprise the young man that he'd have the highest reward out for the Man of Steel, either, considering the size of his bank account.

"Ah. I see I do not need to introduce myself." The honeyed voice sliced through the air like a knife and Julian was surprised to find out that he'd actually talked to Luthor on the phone. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw what the bald man was turning over in his hands—it was his daughter's medical bill. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ The mantra took up residence in Julian's head as he realized the implications of his grabbing that particular envelope. "So, Mr. McDowell. I'm going to cut to the chase, as you can see I'm a very busy man. What do you know about Superman?"

"Uhh." Julian licked his lips nervously and remembered the hard lesson his brother had taught him when they were younger: when negotiating, never tip your hand too early. He cleared his throat, "I want to know about the money."

"I see. That's very wise of you—then again, if I had a daughter undergoing chemotherapy, I'd do the same thing." While his words were meant to portray sympathy, one look at the man's steel grey eyes revealed that he was anything but sympathetic to Julian's plight. He maneuvered around the desk to get closer to Julian, leaning casually against its front while assessing him with his cold eyes. "You are sharper than I thought, Mr. McDowell. I am offering one and a half million dollars for the capture of Superman. Five hundred thousand up front; five more once I've got evidence and the final five once the Man of Steel is mine."

Julian kept up his poker face as the arrangement was laid before him. _Bargaining time._ "Mr. Luthor, with all due respect, I do not wish to be a part of this farce any longer than necessary. I'll take five up front and five after I've delivered proof."

Luthor mulled it over. The young man in front of him seemed genuine and nervous. It was obvious to Lex that Julian McDowell had never made it beyond small-time criminal; he knew why the man was settling, but he wanted to hear him say it aloud. "You are willing to take less than I am offering as a reward; most men would let their greed cloud their judgment, no matter how noble their intentions."

"I am not most men, Mr. Luthor. I have made my share of mistakes and I've paid the price for them. I find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place—my family or the safety of the world's greatest hero. I do not want to risk my family's involvement; I will take just the one million if I can walk away with my family none the worse for wear and we'll disappear once you've got what you needed." Julian mentally berated himself; he couldn't stop talking, and he was giving this evil man more information than he wanted. Something about those grey eyes compelled him.

"Admirable speech there. Alright, I will agree to your request with the following conditions: you will not leave sight of my _associates_ once you've accepted the first installment," he indicated the men next to him with a sweep of his hand. "You will devote as much time as necessary to provide physical proof—call in sick, quit your job, I don't care how you do it. If you are successful, I will give you the second installment; if not, I have given them permission to kill you on sight."

Julian struggled not to show fear in front of this corrupt man but still had to gulp down the lump in his throat and force himself to nod in agreement with Luthor's new terms.

"Good decision." The malice fairly dripped from Luthor's voice and the sneering smile on his face made the young father want to vomit. Julian had the sinking feeling that he'd just traded his soul with the devil for the sake of his daughter's health, but all he had to do was picture her happy and healthy in his mind's eye and it bolstered his courage. _I'm doing this for Lily._ A duffel bag crammed with one hundred dollar bills was tossed onto the desk and jolted Julian from his musings. Luthor sat back down in his chair, his long, nimble fingers steepled under his chin. "Now, tell me what you know."

So Julian relayed his story, omitting the exact locations. If he gave those to Luthor, the man would have no use for him and he'd probably end up dead. If the bald man knew that Julian was purposefully being evasive, he chose not to call him out on it, instead focusing his attention on the younger man's story.

"Interesting…this raises whole new possibilities. I am _very_ glad you came to see me, Mr. McDowell. Take your bag—my men will follow you home so don't try anything stupid. Make your excuses to your family and your boss and get me my proof. You are dismissed."

A meaty hand appeared at his elbow, hauling him to his feet. He wrenched his arm away and slung the bag over his shoulder, the weight of the money making him sink almost a full inch, before following the thugs out of the building.

* * *

Julian sat back with a sigh and took a long swig from his bottle of water. The room was stifling yet he did not dare open the single window. He'd been sitting there all day in the top floor of an older office building that flanked the Kaname building and provided a clear view of the Daily Planet's roof. From his perch near the window he could see Steve and his replacement toiling about six floors above the pavement.

The tatty, gossamer drapes that partially covered the window did nothing to cover his perfect view of the rooftop and he re-focused his efforts on the Daily Planet building across the way, intent on capturing the proof he needed to validate his 'outlandish' theory. A pair of binoculars sat on the chair to his right and a high speed camera lounged in his lap, courtesy of Luthor. The hot dogs he'd gotten from a vendor seemed to sit like a brick in his stomach—he hadn't seen the Man of Steel all day. _Someone's playing a cosmic joke on me._

At six, it started getting dark so he stowed his equipment in his bag and made his way home. A block away from his apartment, someone from Luthor's gang made themselves known and voiced displeasure at Julian's unproductive day. Amidst the threats of bodily harm, he promised that he'd have proof the following day.

* * *

Little did he know that he would not see the superhero for three more days. On that third evening, Luthor's patience had snapped and he'd had Julian picked up. He didn't know how he'd escaped with his life, but he thanked God for watching over him. He lay awake later that night and prayed desperately that Superman would show tomorrow as Lex Luthor had given him just one more day to deliver his proof, otherwise he'd be a dead man.

Sleep continued to elude Julian so he rose from bed and padded down the hall in his bare feet. He silently opened the door to his daughters' room and watched fondly through tired, bloodshot, brown eyes as Lily and Nicole slept soundly. Placing a gentle kiss on each of their soft heads, he wondered if this would be the last time he would see them. As he had the last few days, he would leave the apartment long before anyone else awoke to avoid questions about his haggard appearance and general twitchiness. Not for the first time, Julian lamented his decision—what had seemed the best option at the time was rapidly turning into a nightmare. _What else did I expect working for Lex Luthor?_ He scoffed at his own naiveté as he slipped under the covers in his bed and spooned behind Tanya; while she slept and dreamed, blissfully oblivious to his dire dilemma, all Julian could do was sigh sadly and stare at the ceiling fan until it was time to start his watch once again.

* * *

The next morning, he found himself oddly good-humored and optimistic; he was sure it had to be because he was running on pure adrenaline after only two hours sleep. Seeing as how it might be his last day alive, he spent a good part of the morning praying while keeping an eye on the Planet. Julian took another swig of coffee straight from the thermos and nearly sprayed it all over the window—it had turned ice cold. He was so distracted with his surveillance that he'd forgotten to screw the lid on. Clambering to his feet, he gingerly set the camera on his chair and dumped the cold coffee down the one sink in the corner of the studio.

Watching the brown liquid swirl down the drain, he felt something tickle the back of his mind. Without even thinking, he made his way to the window and suppressed a gasp at the sight of Superman approaching the nearby rooftop. Julian snatched up his camera and his breathing became shallow as he snapped photo after photo, capturing a series of shots as the Man of Steel touched down and walked along the rooftop. Soon, the young man began to wonder why Superman had paused keeping his back to the camera; when Julian trained the binoculars on his quarry, he realized that the red cape partially concealed one Lois Lane. It looked like he'd caught an interview.

Sighing as he realized that this would not be the proof Luthor sought; he cursed lightly under his breath and deleted the useless pictures from the camera's memory. He fit the superhero between the cross-hairs on the camera once more, poised to take more photos. Julian watched as Superman somberly answered the intrepid reporter's questions, his arms folded across his blue spandex-clad chest much like a statue, a far cry from the animation with which the female reporter gesticulated. Not for the first time, the ex-con wished he could read lips.

It was nearly an hour later that Lane popped up on her tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to the Man of Steel's lips. Julian couldn't help but gasp at the small sign of affection—he had a hard time imagining the superhero as being human and having feelings. What happened next was a blur: Superman's shoulders stiffened and he swung his head in the direction of Julian's hiding spot. From the intense look on his face, Julian knew he was using his 'x-ray' vision and that it would only be a matter of time before the glass in the window blew inward and he was hauled out by his shirtfront.

Luck seemed to be on his side as Lois Lane didn't take kindly to being ignored and pushed Superman's shoulder hard enough to get his attention. Leaving off his examination of the building, the Blue Boy Scout turned back to his companion and Julian was hard-pressed to contain his sigh of relief. His relief turned to disappointment as the hero took to the skies. _Wait, come back! You're supposed to go INTO the building not fly away from it!_

Julian knew he was being petty; the hero was probably waiting for Miss Lane to leave before entering the building, but still, he couldn't help worrying knowing his life was on the line. Twenty minutes later, he snapped to attention as the familiar flutter of a red cape flickered in the corner of his eye. _I can't believe I was right!_ He began snapping picture after picture in earnest, stopping only after the hero had disappeared from sight. Julian fell back in his seat with a relieved sigh and flipped through the photos he'd just taken. Of the forty-two pictures he'd managed to capture, only a handful came out clearly. Discarding the duds, he clicked through the remaining photos, much like one of his beloved flip-books he played with as a child: Superman as he touched down; Superman as he strode across the rooftop; Superman as he blurred and another where he reappeared in civilian clothing.

The final two pictures were his crowning achievement: the first showed the superhero with his hand on the doorknob, face tilted forward, eyes closed as if he were listening intently, his regal features and spit curl looking out of place against a drab brown suit and non-descript tie. The second showed him glancing over his shoulder as he pulled open the door, unearthly blue eyes blazing at some point over Julian's left shoulder, his hand mussing his famous spit curl.

Relief flooded through the young man that the camera and the fates had cooperated and he was able to finally get Luthor's proof; his life was spared and the future for his daughter seemed brighter. The rest of the day following the hero's touchdown was relatively uneventful—it seemed as though Superman hadn't been needed since he made his fateful appearance earlier that day. As he packed his equipment for the last time, Julian found himself wondering, not for the first time, what type of job the Man of Steel had inside on the floors below.

* * *

That evening, Luthor's reaction to the prints had been one of maniacal glee and it made the hair on the back of Julian's neck prickle. He had a bad, bad feeling about what he'd done, but he justified his guilt with his daughter. Julian sent up a final prayer, begging God for forgiveness for his actions as he hefted his final duffel bag payment over his shoulder. He strode out of the cursed warehouse without a second look.

* * *

The following morning, Julian McDowell woke his fiancée and children, packed three suitcases full of clothes and simply disappeared, leaving Metropolis forever. None of the family and friends they left behind ever discovered the exact circumstances behind his sudden windfall; in the intervening years he maintained to his children that it was an unexpected inheritance that had suddenly improved their fortunes. Lily went into remission and both she and her sister, Nicole, grew to be fine young women. He and Tanya married shortly after the move, only to divorce when their youngest was ten, citing irreconcilable differences that stemmed from his wealth; Julian gave his blood money freely to anyone who needed it, even beggars panhandling on the street, which riled his wife to no end. His guilt and the heavy mantle he carried for his youthful actions compelled him to seek relief in philanthropy. Tanya, on the other hand, had secretly invested a good share of his wealth in several successful start-up companies, insuring that the family would never want for money again. When he had discovered what she'd done his anger was overwhelming. The ensuing fight was the straw that broke the camel's back; Tanya decided she'd had enough and finally worked up the courage to leave the brittle shell of a man he'd become. He remarried later in life, only to suffer in silence as his beloved Julie succumbed to Alzheimer's six years later.

The man who unmasked Superman to Lex Luthor and the world, passed away peacefully in his sleep the morning after his 90th birthday surrounded by the family for whom he felt he had sacrificed his humanity. Nearly seventy years after the events set in motion by one little girl's illness, Julian McDowell finally found his peace.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- Inspiration for this chapter was drawn in part from "Die Hard". I just want to give credit where credit is due, say thanks to everyone who reviewed and give a big 'Thank You' to WahooGal for her exhaustive beta-ing!

* * *

Previously on **The Window Washer**_**: **__That evening, Luthor's reaction to the prints had been one of maniacal glee and it made the hair on the back of Julian's neck prickle. He had a bad, bad feeling about what he'd done, but he justified his guilt with his daughter. Julian sent up a final prayer, begging God for forgiveness for his actions as he hefted his final duffel bag payment over his shoulder. He strode out of the cursed warehouse without a second look._

* * *

One week later:

"Hey! My phone won't work!" Gil's frustrated voice rang out through the Daily Planet's frenzied bullpen.

"Mine's not working either! Has anyone called I.T.?" Ralph banged the receiver against his desk as if beating the hapless machinery would somehow make it work again.

"Ha ha, nice one—if I had a phone I'd call I.T." The sarcasm fairly dripped from Lois' voice as she reached for her cell phone in her purse only to pause when she felt cold steel press against the back of her head.

"Ah, ah, ah, Miss Lane. Do turn that off and put it away." The voice behind her sent chills across her spine as she complied with his command, turning to meet his gaze and slamming her phone on the desk. "That goes for everyone here—please be so kind as to turn off your cell phones and toss them here on Miss Lane's desk." Everyone within ear shot just stared, unmoving, at the bald man in the white coat that had a gun trained on their star reporter.

As Lois looked around, she quickly discerned that they were surrounded. Men in long trench coats carrying guns stood at all of the exits, barring their escape, while still more stood around Luthor, awaiting orders.

Gunfire suddenly erupted near the center of the room and a burly man with an itchy trigger finger shouted at the top of his lungs. "Are you deaf?! Turn off your phones and place them on the desk!" The display of firepower worked and cell phones suddenly began piling up in front of the criminal mastermind who was currently rubbing his forehead in exasperation while keeping his own gun trained on his captive.

"Les, you stupid idiot, do you _want_ the police to show up?!"

"Uhhh…n-no Mr. Luthor."

"Then may I suggest refraining from firing your gun until the appropriate time?"

"Y-yes Sir!" The stocky, brown-haired man fairly squeaked fearing his boss' wrath.

Turning from his inept help, Lex turned to his second least favorite person in the world, right after Superman, with a forced smile on his face and an overly-cheerful tone. "Why hello, Miss Lane."

"Luthor," she spat back, the disdain palpable in her voice.

"I'm hurt! Aren't you the least bit happy to see me?" He pouted at her stony silence but she knew he was just toying with her.

More and more thugs with machine guns made themselves visible then, shepherding the employees into a small crowd in front of the conference room. Pacing, Luthor continued speaking, "It has come to my attention that someone very important works here."

"What are you talking about?" Lois responded in confusion.

"I mean we have a celebrity in our midst."

"What the hell are you getting at, Luthor?!" Perry's voice teemed with rage as he shouted, extremely unnerved at being held hostage in his own newsroom.

"It's so nice to see you again as well, Mr. White. It's been a long five years, hasn't it? Don't mind me, I'm just waiting for someone important to make himself known."

"Okay, I'll bite. Who are you waiting for?" The older man crossed his arms and glared at the madman as if daring him to tip his hand.

"Why Superman, of course."

"Superman? Here?" Lois asked incredulously.

"You see, Miss Lane, I have it on very good authority that Superman works somewhere in this building." Luthor smiled menacing.

Lois scoffed. "If he works in this building I'd have known long before now. Besides, why would Superman have a job? He's already got his hands full saving everyone else—that _is_ his full-time job."

"Come now, even you can see the practical side of this arrangement. He has to make money somehow—even though he _is_ an alien, I'm sure he needs a place to sleep at night and food to eat. I highly doubt the City Council gives him an expense account." Light laughter permeated the room at his comment. Changing subjects deftly, Luthor pierced Lois' gaze with a steely, unwavering stare. "Where is your son, Miss Lane?" The criminal mastermind's voice fairly drawled in perceived boredom.

Lois swallowed hard, heart pounding in her ears, her bravado gone. "My s-son?"

"Yes, young Jason, where is he?"

"He's not here." Lois tried not to panic and give Luthor any more of an advantage.

"But he will be. You see, your fiancé left exactly one half-hour ago to collect young Jason from school. In exactly six minutes they will step out of that elevator." He pointed to the area in question with the muzzle of his pistol.

"No! They won't! I…I…I sent them on an errand! They're not coming back!"

"I don't think so, Miss Lane." He motioned to a blonde henchman that stood off to the side, and a small recorder was placed in his outstretched hand. Soon, Lois and Richard's voices pierced through the heavy silence in the room. 'Hi Richard.' 'Hey Honey, I'm on my way to get Jason. Is there anything you need me to do?' 'No, no. Just bring him back to the Planet.' Smirking at his ingenuity, Luthor snapped off recorder and handed it over to the thug at his side.

"You_ tapped_ my phone?!"

Clark stood in the back of the crowd, his broad back pressed against the glass wall of the conference room, nervous and kicking himself for not leaving at the first sign of commotion. Given the number of people in the room and the fact that the windows behind him had been replaced with solid panes while he was gone, there was no way he could disappear without drawing attention and possibly getting people hurt. Under the circumstances, he felt it was best to wait this out and see what Luthor was up to before attempting to leave. He tuned back in to the madman's speech.

"It stands to reason that if Superman really worked at the Daily Planet, he'd probably want to be as close to you as possible."

"What?" Lois nervously pulled on the hem of her plum-colored jacket, refusing to believe that which Luthor set out before her.

"If something were to happen to you or your _family_ I'm certain the Man of Steel would want to be on hand. You are his favorite person you know." Luthor glanced at the expensive timepiece on his wrist.

"I don't know about that. Wait—what are you doing?" Her voice rose in panic as Luthor signaled once more to his henchmen.

"Trust me, Miss Lane. This won't hurt a bit." The ominous sound of bullets being loaded into the chambers of twenty guns made the hair on the back of Perry's neck stand on end. He hadn't heard such a sound since Vietnam, where he'd been a war correspondent in his mid-thirties.

"What makes you so sure he'll show up?" Lois privately congratulated herself at the indifference in her voice.

"Oh he'll come…for you he'll always come." Lex Luthor narrowed his steel grey eyes at the small reporter and a malicious grin spread across his face.

Just then the elevator dinged signaling the arrival of the car and every eye in the place turned to look. At the distraction, Luthor took the opportunity to fist his hand in Lois' long, thick hair and yank her close to him. She felt cold steel against her neck as he pressed the muzzle of his handgun into her pulse point. Twisting her hair again, she cried out in pain.

"Mommy?" Jason's tiny voice became louder. "NO! You're the bad man! Let my Mommy go!" At his son's outburst, Richard bolted around the corner to stop him but Jason was already halfway across the room.

"Fire." Luthor's spoken command seemed almost punctuated by the sound of fully automatic guns being fired. Lois watched, horrified and helpless along with everyone else in the bullpen, as the bullets bore down on her son.

"JASON! NO!" Richard tried to follow his son, only to be blown backward by a strong gust of wind. Lois' hair whipped her face as a brown blur sped past. Time seemed to stop for all occupants of the Daily Planet bullpen as the familiar form of Clark Kent coalesced in front of Jason seemingly before they could blink. He wrapped his long arms around the young boy and crouched down over him, completely shielding him from the bullets. Clark was vaguely aware of the dull _thump, thump_ of the armor-piercing rounds as they hit his back but all he focused on was Jason's wildly beating heart.

What seemed like hours later, the gunfire finally stopped; every reporter, photographer and thug in the place had their eyes glued on the pair in the center of the room. Clark remained kneeling, though he loosened his arms around the little boy; just as any father would, he had reacted without thinking and now he wondered just what price he would have to pay. The threat to Jason was over now that he'd outed himself so he whispered to his son, "Go to your mother, Jason."

Luthor freed Lois from his grasp and she dashed over to the boy, scooping her son up into her arms, relieved tears slipping down her cheeks as she sobbed. In his own vain fashion and wicked humor, Lex advanced on Clark clapping slowly, the gun used to threaten Lois now hanging limply from a few fingers. "Bravo! Bravo!"

The tall, otherworldly man stood as Luthor advanced upon him. The back of the ill-fitting tweed jacket was shredded and as Clark squared his shoulders, a hail of flattened bullets slipped from the tatters of his shirt and coat, clattering to the hard floor and cementing his true identity into the minds of everyone he worked with. He slowly turned to face the man who lived to torment him.

"You win, Luthor," his true baritone rumbled from his chest surprising everyone used to his normal tenor stutter. "Are you happy now? You've just ruined everything I've worked so hard for." Deep down, Clark realized just how cheesy the words sounded and he inwardly cringed.

"Only as much as you've ruined mine. Oh don't be so melodramatic, Mr. Kent, it's unbecoming of you. Or should I call you Superman? Or Kal-El?"

Clark stood taller than anyone at the Planet had seen him before, his strong jaw clenched in barely leashed anger, his bearing formidable. His electric blue eyes blazed behind the thick frames of his false glasses as he spoke. "I see nothing melodramatic about this."

"Come, come, I want to see those baby blues! I think everyone here," Luthor swept his arm to indicate everyone behind him, "wants to see them as well, Miss Lane included." His voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Do take off your glasses." He cocked his gun and carelessly waved it in the direction of his partner and her son.

Infuriated by the barely veiled threat, Clark ripped the glasses from his face and flung them to the ground amid gasps from the crowd. "Here!"

"Isn't it just _amazing_ how big a difference a simple pair of glasses can make? Of course, you probably didn't stop there; if there's one thing I've underestimated about you, Mr. Kent, it's your poker face. For someone who's supposed to stand for truth and justice, you seem to lie so easily."

Clark's muscles twitched with fury and his fists clenched at his side, yet he still stood rooted to the spot, following Luthor's pacing with his gaze. He didn't dare use his powers now, not when there were so many hired goons with guns posing a threat to every co-worker of his in the place. Instead, he chose to bide his time some more and listen to Luthor's demands. "What do you want?"

"Want? Why do I have to _want_ something in order to see my least favorite hero? You make it sound as if my world revolves around getting kicks out of torturing you."

"It doesn't?" A small smirk played out across Clark's full lips as he cocked a thick, dark eyebrow. Several snickers erupted from the back of the crowd.

"You've spent too much time with your partner there, and sarcasm doesn't suit you, Mr. Kent. Now I've taken the liberty to do a bit of research…since I found out a little over a week ago that Metropolis' resident superhero worked at the Daily Planet, I just had to learn more about this persona that you had put together. An associate of mine hacked into the Planet's server and downloaded recently added personnel files for the last twelve months. Imagine my surprise when I happened upon your file and discovered that you had recently been hired back on the same auspicious day that Superman returned?! And after a _5 year absence, _no less!" Luthor cackled with glee at the collective gasp from the crowd behind him. Turning to the crowd behind him, he added, "And you call yourself reporters. Psh!"

"If you already knew who I was, then why take the Planet hostage?" No matter how many times the pair faced each other down, Clark would never come to understand this madman's M.O.

"Why not? Anyways, to say that I was pleasantly surprised by the coincidence would be an understatement! Of course then I had to do even _more_ research—there wasn't much to be found in Smallville that wasn't already public knowledge." He fished a sheet of paper from his jacket as he spoke. "Don't worry, these are just the highlights. Let's see...6'4" tall, 220 pounds, black hair, blue eyes. There are absolutely no records of you prior to 1973 when adoption papers were filed with the State of Kansas. Only son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, raised in a poor farming community, graduated near the top of his class at Smallville High, never played sports, briefly engaged to his high school sweetheart and...oh ho! What's this!?" Luthor briefly glanced behind him at a thug with long, lanky blonde hair who just shrugged in response. "You have an arrest record! Superman, who stands for truth and justice, has a record!" he crowed. "For assault and vandalism none the less! Charges were eventually dropped though…too bad. You will simply _have_ to tell me the whole sordid tale when I have more time. As it is, I'm already running late for my next appointment."

At the break in his diatribe, Clark chanced a quick glance at Lois; Richard had joined her side and both were looking at him in confusion. Hurt flashed across her face as she regarded the man before her—her partner, her confidant, her hero was now to be added to the same list as the man who lied to her every single day, who'd fathered her son and been the sole occupant of her dreams all these long years. Instead of the heart-rending cry of rage he was expecting from the indomitable Lois Lane, she stepped forward, looked him in the eye over the top of their son's head and screamed, anger and pain clear in her voice, "I trusted you! I _trusted_ you!"

"Now, now, Miss Lane. I think that's quite enough." Luthor leveled his gun at her head quieting her instantly, "If you'll kindly leave him alone—I'll be sure to handle this." He waved the gun and motioned her back to Richard's side.

"Now, where was I?" Luthor scratched his chin thoughtfully as he turned back to his quarry. "Oh yes! I was right here." He leveled his gun at Clark and pulled the trigger without even blinking. The shot rang out, deafening in the hushed atmosphere of the Daily Planet bullpen before several people shrieked and ducked for cover. Jason covered his ears and buried his face in his mother's blouse while Richard kept a broad, protective hand on the boy's back.

The tall man staggered backwards, a look of surprise on his regal features as a large red stain spread across the left shoulder of his formerly crisp white shirt. Clark's knees began shaking uncontrollably before altogether failing and buckling beneath him. "Do you like my gun, Supes? It's lead." He waved it once more in front of the superhero's face. "And I forgot to tell you that I've loaded it with Kryptonite bullets. My apologies!" With a last menacing grin he motioned to the three burly henchmen who stepped forward to take their places while the rest kept their guns trained on the Daily Planet staff, keeping them immobilized.

The biggest of the three thugs looped his arms around Clark's, hauling him bodily to his feet. With his arms pinned to his sides and weakened as he was by the shock of being shot and by the radiation poisoning, Clark struggled to gain the upper hand, but the men purposely kept him off balance; these were not your run-of-the-mill bodyguards—they knew their job and they did it well.

"Why are you doing this?!" Lois' voice pierced the stillness of the room suddenly, making everyone but Luthor jump. "Why?!'

"Isn't it obvious? I want revenge!"

"Revenge for what? What did he ever do to you?" She valiantly tried to keep him talking to try to buy Clark some time, but Luthor saw right through her ruse.

"That won't work on me, Miss Lane." The cold steel inflected in Luthor's voice kept anyone from asking any more questions.

Clark was vaguely aware of talking as he watched as another of Luthor's heavies slipped on a set of brass knuckles while chuckling forebodingly. He caught a faint glint of green before the first blow landed on his right cheek, snapping his head back and leaving the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. A gasp arose from somewhere in the spellbound crowd when he tilted his head forward and a thin trickle of blood wound its way down the side of his face.

The beating began in earnest then; armed with Kryptonite-laced weapons Luthor's men dealt blow after blow, leaving him little time to recuperate between hits. As the punches continued, Clark could feel the iron grip pinioning his arms loosen its hold. The relaxed grasp, coupled with Lois and Jason's soft sobs, energized him to the point where he forced himself to move—with an ominous roar he thrust his head backward, hitting his captor square in the face. The man stumbled backwards with his hand against his nose, cursing and hurling epithets at the tall reporter. Clark had little time to enjoy his victory before a well-aimed kidney punch sucked the breath from his lungs. As he reeled, another thug took the opportunity to splinter a heavy, oak chair against his wounded chest.

With a groan of pain, Clark flew backwards, landing hard on his back but still managing to use his momentum to flip himself into a handstand and then upright again without use of levitation. He forced himself to remain focused and light on his feet as his sudden energy seemed to throw his opponents off. Breathing heavily and favoring his left shoulder, he quickly shrugged out of his shredded jacket and vest, choosing to leave on the shirt that had been reduced to Swiss cheese as he readied himself for a proper fight since his super-powers were mostly in abeyance.

His super-hearing chose that moment to go into overdrive and Clark winced as sounds reverberated in his skull, the pain exacerbating what he was sure was already a concussion: he could hear Ralph whispering to John about how he'd love to scalp tickets to this show and Lois was murmuring soft, nonsensical words to her son trying to calm him since Luthor would not let them leave. He also heard the tell-tale click of a cell phone keypad and he glanced up quickly to see Jim Olsen slip his phone into his jacket pocket.

Filled with hope that someone had managed to notify the police, he put his back to a pillar, faced his opponents and narrowed his eyes, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist and smirking. No one at the Planet had ever seen him do so in either guise and there was a collective gasp at the menacing sight he portrayed—it was a far cry from the stoic hero that caught falling jets, put out forest fires and rescued kittens from trees on a regular basis.

Clark realized that with his strength fading fast he had to act quickly—there was no time to be heroic and handle this as he would have had he been in full control of all his powers. Reminding himself that he was not Superman at that moment but Clark Kent, he stepped sideways and dropped into a shallow crouch, one hand extended towards the thugs. He waggled two fingers at them and watched through his good eye as, with a cry of anger, the henchman with the broken nose hefted a broken chair leg up over his head and ran towards him. Moving as swiftly as his injured shoulder would allow, he grasped the wrist holding the makeshift club and twisted, placing his good shoulder into the man's midsection and using the thug's own body weight and momentum to execute a neat flip, managing to toss the big man a good four feet without his super-strength.

Luthor stared at the bloody hero, mouth agape. "What was that?!"

Seeing an opportunity to taunt the villain and get him so flustered that he might let down his guard, Clark responded flippantly, his deep baritone punctuated with soft wheezing, "What's...the matter...Luthor—have you never...seen Judo...before?"

"You're not supposed to know martial arts! You're supposed to just lay there and take your punishment like a good, little powerless superhero!!" he yelled, motioning at the ground with his handgun as if illustrating the position he wanted Clark to be in, not his hired man. The villain was getting worried, three men were more than a match for the beleaguered hero, but two was chancing it. He didn't like those odds.

"Let's call it...my insurance policy Luthor—I found a _very_ good teacher shortly after...I was released from the hospital." He broke off quickly to cough lightly. As he continued to speak, some strength returned to his voice as he was able to catch his breath. "You taught me a very valuable lesson on New Krypton." Clark wheezed again as he tried to chuckle, "Humbling even." His comment caused many in the room to wonder just what had transpired on that doomed piece of rock between the arch-enemies. He and Luthor were slowly circling each other like two pitbulls after the same bone, each looking for an opening. The henchmen backed off, waiting for a signal from their boss to resume the planned beating even as the plan went awry. "You showed me that I rely entirely too much on my strength...and I thank you for the long overdue wake-up call."

Luthor narrowed his lifeless, maniacal grey eyes at Clark and motioned with his gun. The two conscious thugs rushed forward and he spun to meet them, dodging blows and using pressure points to take them down before they could cause him more harm. In his final and most critical mistake, Clark took his eyes off of his nemesis for a fleeting moment to deal with one of the men, and when he glanced back up, Luthor was not even two feet away, his lead gun pointed at the hero once again. "I think we need to even the odds a bit more," he uttered coldly, grinding his teeth in his head before firing another Kryptonite bullet into Clark's good shoulder.

He staggered backwards into waiting arms and the beating continued as Clark found his shoulders nearly immobilized by the radiation, leaving him unable to protect himself further. The Daily Planet employees hated to watch but couldn't tear their eyes away from the gruesome scene before them as two burly men—followed shortly by the bloody-nosed third—kicked and punched the tall, affable colleague they'd worked next to for years. In amidst the sniffles and gasps of horror many still had problems reconciling their co-worker with the hopelessly outmatched superhero before them.

Clark bit his lip until blood trickled down his chin to keep from crying out in pain, refusing to give Luthor the satisfaction of seeing him so thoroughly broken but also to shield those he worked with and cared for from having to see him die while begging for mercy. Though his thoughts were extremely fuzzy, Clark was certain that, no matter what he said, Luthor would kill him.

He was thrown to the floor where he tried immediately to get up, shaking as he pulled himself first to his knees, then his feet. His dark hair hung limply in his face so he brushed it back, revealing his bloodied and bruised visage for all to see. Luthor smirked at the damage done: one eye was nearly swollen shut, blood dribbled down the side of Superman's face from a laceration above his right eyebrow, two black eyes were starting to make themselves known, his lower lip was split and bleeding and his regal jaw was already sporting alarming purple bruises.

Clark, concentrating on keeping himself upright, was caught off-guard when Luthor pistol-whipped him and he went down hard for the umpteenth time. As he lay on the ground on his stomach, desperately trying to get his legs under him once again with arms that refused to cooperate, the criminal mastermind viciously kicked him in the midsection, smirking when he heard the snap of several ribs. Battling pain as he'd only known two other times in his life, Clark stayed down this time, gasping for air and seeking a respite from the maelstrom.

His breathing was ragged and every so often, his lungs would rattle indicating the presence of fluid. Dark rivulets of blood steadily dripped from his mouth, pooling on the floor beneath him and Clark nearly found himself apologizing to his boss for making such a mess.

Luthor loomed over him, a dark shape in his rapidly receding eyesight, "Well, so long! I must be going—I have bigger fish to fry now that you're out of commission." He motioned to his henchmen, several of whom ran towards the stairwell while others continued to keep the Planet employees subdued; he spoke quietly into a small radio that one of the men had suddenly placed in his palm. Luthor dug his Italian-made wingtips into Clark's side once more for good measure then leaned down to whisper harshly, "I hope you enjoy your life now, _Superman_."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Superman.

* * *

Previously on **The Window Washer**: _Luthor loomed over him, a dark shape in his rapidly receding eyesight, "Well, so long! I must be going—I have bigger fish to fry now." He motioned to his henchmen, several of whom ran towards the stairwell while others continued to keep the Planet employees subdued; he spoke quietly into a small radio that suddenly appeared in his palm. Luthor dug his Italian-made wingtips into Clark's side once again for good measure then leaned down to whisper harshly, "I ohpe you enjoy your life now, __**Superman**__."_

* * *

"You'll never get away with this!" Lois shrieked as she ran forward toward Clark's prone form, rolling him onto his back and attempting to staunch the blood flow from his chest with the tattered remains of his jacket.

"Au contraire, my sweet; I _will_ get away with this since _HE _won't be here to stop me!" he crowed triumphantly as he followed his thugs to the stairs. Sirens pierced the air as he opened the door, heralding the arrival of Metropolis' finest, and Luthor waved jauntily before disappearing from sight, a small explosion and gunfire quickly following. Richard and Perry made to run after him, but the smoke from a canister billowed throughout the entire stairwell precluding anyone from entering.

Richard coughed violently as he retreated, commenting offhand that the reason help hadn't appeared before then was because Luthor had probably disabled the elevators and they were on one of the uppermost floors. Perry absentmindedly corrected his nephew as he focused on shutting the door against the smoke, "The elevators are most likely still working. SWAT teams are trained not to use them in hostage situations because unfortunately elevators herald the arrival of help with bells and floor indicators. Luthor knew that—which is why he most likely had someone expendable at the bottom of the staircase."

Turning back to the scene at hand Perry stood at a loss for words, unsure of how to help the superhero that was bleeding out on his floor. Lois sobbed quietly as she tried to keep pressure on the wounds but she shrugged off help from her fiancée and motioned towards their son; Richard quickly moved to gather Jason up into his arms and soothe him, carrying him away from the dying man. Perry knelt next to Lois and found that Clark was drifting in and out of consciousness. "What can I do to help?"

Lois looked at him and shrugged helplessly. Their patient coughed violently then and blood splattered everywhere. It was then that the Editor-in-Chief realized the young man was trying to talk. He bent closer to Clark's mouth to make out what he was saying.

"Mom," he whispered, choking and writhing on the floor in pain.

"I'm sorry, Son, I didn't hear you. What about 'Mom'?" He noticed then that Clark was struggling to retrieve something from his pants pocket. Perry's eyebrows leapt into his hairline when a bloody cell phone was placed into his outstretched hand.

"Call …om."

"Call Mom?" Clark nodded before coughing again and slipping into blissful unconsciousness.

"Perry!" Lois shrieked, "He's bleeding from his nose! HURRY!!"

"He can't really mean _Mom_, though, can he? Everyone knows Superman doesn't have a mother."

"You heard the man earlier," Richard interjected, making sure to keep Jason's eyes averted from the awful sight. "He's got parents here on Earth. Call them!" He ran a hand over his son's head as the boy renewed his sobs, telling him that Superman would be alright and praying he wasn't lying.

"Chief! Check his call log!" Jimmy's voice piped up from the back of the crowd that had crowded closer to the action. His thick fingers fumbled with the phone as Perry searched through the recent calls looking for a familiar name while gunfire continued to echo quietly from the stairwell. "Doesn't he have any numbers labeled in here? Ah ha! I'll be damned. 'Mom'. It's in here."

"Well call it already, we don't have time!! The paramedics aren't here yet and nobody else knows what to do for him—call it!" Lois cried, panicking, "He's not breathing steadily anymore! Put her on speakerphone!"

Perry hit the button and sharp ringing sliced through the air. It seemed everyone was holding their breath, afraid to breathe lest the call be interrupted. No one was making any moves to leave, not wanting to miss any of the drama.

"Hello?" A kindly voice answered.

"Martha Kent?!"

"Yes, who is this? And why are you calling from Clark's phone?" Her voice got distant and Perry could imagine the woman was double-checking the caller ID.

"Mrs. Kent, this is Lois Lane. Clark's partner at the Daily Planet—I don't know if you remember me…"

"Of course I do! It's been a few years and I thought I told you to call me 'Martha'..." Lois interrupted the older woman and felt only a modicum of guilt for doing so.

"Mrs. Kent!" Lois' nearly sobbed and the other woman picked up the emotion in her voice even over the speakerphone. Perry, numbed the shock of it all, found himself wondering if she had super-hearing as well.

"Something's wrong—what is it? What's happened?! Where's Clark?!" Martha's voice wavered. "CLARK!! Where's my son?!"

"He's right here, but you've got to help me! He's been shot!"

Silence reigned over the phone as the older woman seemingly digested the news. When she spoke again, her voice was strangely flat, "Clark? Shot? I'm afraid you must be mistaken..."

"Martha, please! I know! I know everything now, and Lex Luthor just shot him with Kryptonite bullets!"

"Oh God!" The warbling cry on the other end of the line did nothing to alleviate the slowly growing panic in the room as Clark's breathing grew even more labored.

"He told us to call you just before he lost consciousness—he's having trouble breathing. I don't know what to do! What do we do?!" Her voice became shriller as she started to hyperventilate. The panicking of the young woman on the phone galvanized Superman's mother into action.

"First, you need to calm down," Martha barked from the phone, her years and experience as a volunteer nurse in the Army finally kicking in as she took control of the situation from hundreds of miles away. "You'll be of no use to anyone if you don't; take a few deep breaths, okay? Next you'll need to get into the bottom drawer of his desk. There's a medical kit in the back." Lois nodded at Jimmy, who quickly followed orders; she focused on her breathing and morbidly wondered if Clark and his mother had actually prepared for this type of scenario or if Martha was winging it. Jim lugged the kit back and set it down on the floor with a hard thud.

"We've got it; but Martha…" Lois' stated worriedly as Perry popped open the kit, "…there's nothing in there."

"I know—it's lead lined. You're going to put the bullets in there once you dig them out."

"Dig them out!?" Perry parroted incredulously.

"Who's that?!" Martha demanded tinnily.

"That's Perry, our boss. Clark got shot at work. Everyone here knows."

The muffled swearing that came from the phone caused a small smile to spread across Lois' strained features. "Dammit! That means I have to start packing. I'd hoped that this day would never come to pass."

"Packing?"

"No time for that now! You'll need something long, skinny and strong—preferably metal. And rubbing alcohol."

"Will a letter opener and whiskey work?" Perry asked candidly.

"That'll have to do. You'll need towels too." The Planet employees jumped up to fetch the needed items. Jimmy collected dishtowels from the break room while Perry fished his liquor and a letter opener from his desk.

Martha continued with her instructions, "You need to take off his shirt. Does he have the suit on?"

"Suit?" She replied dumbly.

"The blue suit, does he have it on?"

Lois frantically yanked his tie from its knot and unbuttoned the bloody, white shirt. Nothing but a pale, muscular torso tinged with green and mottled with ugly black bruises and blood met her eyes when she finally pulled it open. "No. He's not wearing it." She quickly wadded up what was left of his shirt and pressed it against the worst of the two wounds on his chest once it was bare; the other was bleeding sluggishly although what that meant, she didn't know—she suspected it probably wasn't a good sign though.

"Thank God. That thing's a pain in the ass to get off." Snickers erupted from the back of the crowd. Several wondered aloud how such a colorful old woman raised such a mild-mannered man like Clark who said 'Gosh' and 'swell' on a daily basis.

"We've got everything."

"Okay. Take the letter opener and douse it in the alcohol." Perry dunked the strip of metal straight into the bottle. "Get three or four guys to hold his arms down." Jimmy, Perry, Frank and Gil all moved into position as instructed. "Okay—Lois, pour the alcohol on the wounds. His immune system has been comprised—everything has to be sterilized, I don't know if he can be infected by all the germs and viruses out there, so we have to treat him as if he were human." Lois did as she was told and the effect was immediate; still not fully conscious, Clark screamed in pain and tried to flail in reaction to the fiery alcohol being poured over his bullet-riddled chest. The strength with which he moved took Perry by surprise—even wounded as he was, he managed to nearly lift all four men off the ground.

"Done."

"Now you're going to have remove the bullets."

"WHAT?!"

"It's the only way. The longer the Kryptonite is in his body the worse it's going to be. Feel around the wound—you should feel a lump. Hopefully, there're no broken bones."

"I feel it!" She exclaimed excitedly; Clark moaned in pain. "It's lodged up against a bone just below his shoulder. It doesn't feel like anything's broken there."

"Good. Now, try to get the tip of the opener under the bullet. Once you do that, apply gentle upwards pressure until it comes out."

"I'm sorry, Clark!" Sucking in her breath sharply, Lois slowly but surely dug the bullet out of her partner. More than one employee ran gagging to the bathrooms, but she remained completely focused on her task, covered in Superman's blood, knowing exactly what would happen if she failed. Several long minutes later, it landed with a hollow _plop_ into the bottom of the medical kit and glowed a venomous green though covered in blood before Jimmy snapped the lid shut to contain the radiation. She had started in on the other side when he stopped breathing altogether. "Oh damn! Martha, he's not breathing!"

"Get the other bullet out, Lois! It's the only way!" The young woman worked feverishly to free the other piece of Kryptonite; her haste making her slip several times and she winced as she jostled his broken ribs more than once. It seemed an eternity later that the second bullet joined the first and Jimmy snapped the lid shut a final time, shielding Clark from the rock's poisonous green glow. The effect was almost immediate; the deathly grey-green pallor to Clark's skin seemed to abate although he still wasn't breathing on his own. Richard stepped in then, dropping an abnormally quiet Jason into Perry's arms and pushing an exhausted Lois out of the way to begin CPR.

"Why aren't you pushing on his chest?" Tired as she was, Lois still had to have the answer to everything.

In between breaths, Richard panted, "Can't…not with…broken…ribs."

Even though she knew she should clean up in the bathroom, Lois couldn't bring herself to leave; she wanted to be there no matter if Superman lived or died, if only so that he'd have someone who loved him close. After several minutes, Richard was getting ready to give up when Clark coughed up more blood and began breathing on his own, albeit shakily. A collective sigh of relief and a few whistles came from the crowd of employees as the superhero's breathing became stronger.

"Lois!? Lois, what's going on?!" Martha's voice chirruped loudly from the phone, having waited in tense silence on the other end for some sort of sign.

"He's breathing—Omigod, I can't believe it. It worked! He's still unconscious, but he's breathing."

"He's still unconscious? That's not right—he should be awake by now."

"What do you mean by that? He was out for three days after New Krypton."

"From the little that Clark and I have discovered, it appears as though his body puts him into a comatose state to heal itself. The length of that state varies depending upon the severity of his injury; with New Krypton, he drove himself to the very edges of all of his limits, mentally as well as physically. Of course he'd need three days to recoup from that." Martha was still on speakerphone and several of the less moral reporters in the back, including Frank and Gil, were scribbling notes as she talked.

"Did I hear you correctly—the worse his injuries are, the longer he's unconscious?"

"Yes."

"Oh crap."

"What's wrong?! Hello?! Lois?!"

"Martha, he wasn't just shot—he was beaten," she took a quick breath as if wondering how much she should divulge to Clark's mother. Glancing over at her own son, she realized her decision had already been made. "He was worked over by three huge guys with chairs and clubs and…Martha? They had brass knuckles and I could've sworn they had a green tint to them. We underestimated Luthor's resourcefulness big time…" she trailed off, sniffling slightly.

"Listen to me and listen carefully: _this was not your fault._ No one is to blame except for Lex Luthor, understood?"

Brief silence met her declaration, followed by a meek, "Yes, thank you."

"No, thank you for saving my son—he counts himself lucky to work with people he considers his friends. Now I see why he trusts you." Martha paused and cleared her throat as if beating back tears; it was a testament to her will that her voice only trembled slightly when she issued her final instructions. "You need to get him into sunlight; it will help him heal faster."

"Okay, we'll do that right now."

"Oh and Lois?"

"Yes?"

"Tell that son of mine to call my cell when he wakes up." That elicited a small giggle from the Planet's star reporter, which was no doubt Martha's intention.

"Wait—what are you going to do?"

"I am going to pack and then I'm catching the next flight to Metropolis." She rang off and Lois stared at the phone in her hand, marveling at the woman who raised Superman.

"Alright, you heard the woman," she barked, finally getting control of her emotions now that she had to be the strong one. "We need to move him into some direct sunlight! Chief! We're using your office since it has the most windows." And with that, she recruited a group of her co-workers along with two paramedics that had finally shown up, to move Clark into sunlight. After some arguing with Lois and without recognizing the bruised and bloodied man on the floor, they reluctantly agreed to strap him to a backboard and move him into the office twenty feet away. She managed to persuade them to give her ten minutes before they were going to haul him to the waiting ambulance and the ER.

"Mommy?" Jason had found his way to his mother and he threw himself into her weak, exhausted embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. She gently rocked him, murmuring soothing words and making sure he was facing away from the comatose man on the floor in Perry's office. She didn't want to traumatize her son any more, although she knew there would be nightmares for months. She nearly missed his next comment, "Mommy? When is Mr. Clark gonna wake up?"

"I don't know, Honey. Soon, I hope." He pulled away from her enough that he could look at her. His blue eyes seemed to bore into her soul as he searched her face; for what she wasn't sure, but a sob lodged in her chest at how much he looked like his father just then, with his eyebrows knitted together in concentration and his lips pursed into a thin, questioning line. Suddenly, he smiled and it was like the sun broke loose from the clouds because soon she found herself smiling and relaxing in response.

"He has to get better soon, Mommy. He promised he'd take me to the park tomorrow!"

Lois tensed. "Jason, I don't know that Mr. Clark will…" She broke off when she recognized that he needed to have the reassurance and normalcy right then. _Besides, knowing Clark, he wouldn't miss taking Jason to the park for the world; he could be in a hospital bed and he'd still find a way not to disappoint his son._ His son. The lump was back in her throat as the enormity of the day's events finally hit her. It was a good thing she was already sitting down. In typical Lois Lane fashion, she felt her blood pressure go through the roof as she stewed over everything she wanted to make Clark suffer for, which was quite a laundry list. Halfway through visualizing his punishment for leaving her alone and pregnant, she realized the absurdity of her thoughts and chuckled aloud. Lois tightened her hold on her son: she wouldn't change her life for anything.

While waiting for Clark to wake up, Lois watched in subdued amusement as the Editor in Chief confiscated everyone's notebooks and pocket recorders, saying that if an article about Superman's identity were to run in the Daily Planet, it would be written by the man himself—if he ever woke up.

* * *

Clark became aware of a warm, soothing feeling as it bathed his battered body and he slowly opened his eyes…or at least he _thought_ he did; he blinked but most of the room remained pitch black while lightening to a dark grey at the very edges. He thought he was at the Planet, but he couldn't be certain; he strained his ears to see if he could hear anything but he might as well have been in a vacuum. _Tired, so tired,_ was his last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

Clark opened his eyes a second time—the world was still blurry, however, he could recognize the shapes above him as people. He could barely make out Lois' features hovering most prominently above him. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. All too soon he realized he had exerted his still-limited hearing in trying to make out what she was saying, and now a low, annoying buzzing sound filled his ears. What were once normally forgettable background noises suddenly became headache-inducing, ear-tearing nuisances; muffled voices speaking excitedly sounded like a dull roar, but what was worse was the squeak of someone's rubber-soled shoes on the floor that truly hurt. It felt as though someone was pounding on his forehead with a hammer every time a person moved and he wanted to tear the shoes right off their feet.

He tried to focus again on his partner and, as if in slow motion, Lois opened her mouth to speak again, "Squeeeeeeep!" The squeaking pervaded everything, even overpowering speech. Puzzled, Clark was vaguely aware of moving his own lips and saying something to her. She made to speak one more time. "Squee-e-e-e-e-eep!"

* * *

A/N- Sorry, you're gonna have to wait for it...next Thursday. :-P


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